


it sung like a violent wind

by electriceell



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Hurt No Comfort, Poor Foggy, ambiguous - Freeform, but we all know he's going to have to bury matt, not character death per se, not not character death, sad shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 00:18:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8599609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electriceell/pseuds/electriceell
Summary: Matt's been in a coma for four days.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Death Cab for Cutie's _What Sarah Said_.
> 
> This has been knocking around my head for a while in a lot of different iterations, but this one won out. Because let's face it; we all know Foggy is going to end up having to bury Matt.

Matt’s been in a coma for four days.

Matt has been in a coma for days, but Foggy couldn’t tell you what day it is or how long he’s been at Matt’s bedside. He could tell you how many doctors have come and gone and how many have told him not to get his hopes up, that injuries like this usually leave someone in a coma. He could tell you how many times the police had changed shifts; they’re waiting to question Daredevil/Matt Murdock if he ever regains consciousness. 

Brett has visited multiple times, as a friend, not a cop, and brought Foggy food. He tried to convince him to go home and get a little sleep, but he must have known it was a lost cause. 

Foggy finds himself thinking of his life before the call about Matt as almost an alternate timeline. In that world he had plans to get drink at Josie’s with Matt on Friday. In that world Matt and Foggy were putting their shit back together as friends; Matt had apologized and fucking talked about his feelings. In that world Matt had promised he was being more careful, told him he had hooked up with a few other vigilante weirdos and they were sharing the load. In that world they had a future. Now…

“You promised,” Foggy sobs, clutching Matt’s hand against his forehead. “Matty, we had plans. It was drinks this weekend and a trip to Columbia with Karen on Sunday to show her our old haunts. It was you and me, man, forever. It wasn’t supposed to be me holding vigil by your hospital bed…”

Foggy trails off as Matt’s heart monitor keeps a steady beat.

The hospital reeks. Not in the way that Foggy always expects it to, of death and decay, but instead of the sterile cleaning products. All he can smell is chemicals; chemicals and the whisper of what exactly they’re covering up. It must be torture on Matt’s sense. That is, if he can smell at all.

Foggy digs his chapstick out of his briefcase and gives it a whiff. It just smells of camphor and menthol as far as Foggy can tell. It doesn’t smell great, but it smells strongly and it’s got to be better than hospital, Foggy thinks as he rubs a little bit under Matt’s nose. There. Now if he’s still getting sensory input it doesn’t have to be the haunting scent of hospital. 

When Foggy thinks about it, there are a lot of things that could be bothering Matt that he can’t say anything about because of, you know, the coma. The first being the prattling television that is mounted in the corner of the room. Foggy doesn’t remember turning it on, maybe it’s been on the whole time he’s been here? Or maybe Brett turned it on in an attempt to distract Foggy. It doesn’t really matter.

Now that Foggy is paying attention to it, the soap opera on the TV is full of shrill voices and screams and crying and God, it’s grating. Ideally Foggy would be able to put on something nice and soothing, but for now, he’s going to stick with turning the TV off. 

The hospital blanket is probably murder on Matt’s skin. How had he described cotton once? Like sandpaper. But there isn’t really anything Foggy can do about that. It reminds Foggy of college and how ridiculous Matt’s silk sheets had seemed, especially for an orphan on scholarship. 

And then Foggy remembers that Matt’s feet are always freezing. In all the time that Foggy’s known Matt he’s only ever seen him in socks and shoes, never boat shoes, never sandals. “They make my feet feel like icicles,” Foggy remembers Matt insisting on a particularly brutal summer day. 

Foggy pulls back the sheets and finds Matt in a hospital gown and no socks. Its such a small thing that Foggy doubts it makes a difference; still, Foggy finds himself unlacing his shoes and pulling off his socks, thankfully high quality now that he has his big HCB salary, and pulling them onto Matt’s shockingly cold feet. 

Once Matt’s covered with the blanket again, Foggy runs a hand through Matt’s hair. He think he hears the heart monitor slow, just a little, but maybe it’s his brain playing tricks on him.

“Don’t leave me, man,” Foggy lets out a shuddering breath, “Please.”

Hours later, with no change in status, Foggy finds himself thinking that this must be what truly loving someone is. 

Love is watching someone die.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, failing around on [ tumblr](http://electriceell.tumblr.com/)


End file.
